


We Two Become One

by opalmatrix



Category: SUTCLIFF Rosemary - Works, The Eagle of the Ninth - Rosemary Sutcliff
Genre: F/M, First Time, Wedding Night, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-10
Updated: 2013-06-10
Packaged: 2017-12-14 13:11:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/837255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opalmatrix/pseuds/opalmatrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cottia tries to behave properly on her wedding day, with mixed results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Two Become One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [riventhorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/riventhorn/gifts).



> A treat for riventhorn, who was interested in Cottia: "First-time sex (for Cottia) would be a kink of mine ... ." Beta by **[smillaraaq](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Smillaraaq/)** – thank you so much for turning this around on such short notice!

It had been a long day. Cottia's memories of weddings among the Iceni had not prepared her for the fussy customs that Romans thought proper for the joining of a couple in marriage. Instead of wearing her most colorful finery, she had been dressed by Aunt Valaria in a simple white tunic that fell to her feet, which were shod in flame-colored slippers. A fine veil of the same fiery shade was draped over her head, and anchored there by a crown of wildflowers she had picked herself at dawn. A rope-like belt was fastened about her waist with a complex traditional knot. When Cottia came out of her chamber for the ceremony, she saw that Marcus wore a white tunic with two narrow red bands running from the hem up across his shoulders and down to the hem behind, as well as a white toga.

Cottia knew that this was the traditional clothing of a Roman man of his class, but she had never seen him wear it before. He looked very serious and rather severe, despite the wreath of flowers on his head, and she was not sure that she liked it. A Roman priest stood in the atrium, with Uncle Kaeso by one of his shoulders and a formidable matron, the wife of Uncle Aquila's old friend Sentius Nepos, by the other. A crowd of august men, some of whom she knew by sight, stood about: they would be the witnesses to the rites. Behind them were a few women who were likely the wives of some of them: she recognized Aunt Valaria's friend Marciana among them.

Uncle Kaeso came to lead her forward to stand next to Marcus, who turned his head just a bit to look at her and flash a quick smile. She tried to smile back, but she had a feeling that she did not do a very good job. She found herself wondering where Esca was: in all this crowd of notable Romans, she had not caught a single glimpse of him. It's not right, she thought. Marcus should have his best friend there.

The presiding matron, Tullia Rufa held out her hands to Marcus and Cottia. They each placed one of their hands in hers, and then she pressed their two hands together. She looked expectantly at Cottia, who stared back at her blankly before she remembered what she was supposed to say: "Wheresoever you are Gaius, I will be Gaia,."

Tullia Rufa's serene expression wavered for a moment, as though she were trying not to laugh. Two wooden stools were brought, and Marcus and Cottia sat on them, side by side, still hand in hand. The priest solemnly dedicated a wheat cake to Jupiter, and then the thing was over. Everyone called out good wishes, and Aunt Valaria burst into tears.

Cottia, exasperated, rose to go to her side and be as soothing and sympathetic as a good niece should, but Tullia Rufa intercepted her. "Now, now: you and Marcus have other duties, Her friends will see to her."

Indeed, Marciana was already making much of Aunt Valaria, so Cottia walked hand in hand with Marcus to where the wedding feast was spread. They were given the place of honor, and the household's slaves brought out an elaborate meal of lettuce salad with mint, oysters in herb sauce, boiled eggs with spices, roasted hare basted with oil and honey, eels in wine, pigeons in pastry, soles baked with onions, parsnips stewed with leeks, cucumbers soaked in vinegar and garum, and a final course of sweet cheesecake, spiced nuts, apples in cream, and imported figs. Most of the guests drank freely from the excellent wine that Uncle Aquila had provided. but Cottia could not manage more than a sip. She noticed that Marcus didn't drink much either, and neither of them seemed to have much appetite for the feast.

As the wine went 'round, the men began to make sly jests to Marcus about the wedding night. Cottia was not as naive in this as Aunt Valaria might have wished: she had helped tend farm animals as a child, and the women of the Iceni were not as reticent in discussing their marriage beds as Roman women were. Marcus was looking at her anxiously out of the corners of his eyes. She wanted him to stop it: she wasn't some delicate blossom of a girl. So she stepped on his foot.

"Oof!" he said, and started choking on a bite of cheesecake. His floral wreath fell off into his plate. Uncle Kaeso sprang up to slap him on the back, Uncle Aquila offered him a cup of springwater, and and all the matrons clucked and fussed. When Marcus finally stopped coughing, he began to laugh. Cottia found herself rocking along with him.

"Oh dear," exclaimed Marciana; "I do hope they haven't had too much wine!"

"No, they've hardly touched their cups. I think they've had too much solemnity and feasting," said Uncle Aquila, shrewdly. "I'd say it's high time for the procession."

There was a lot of fuss and ceremony involved in this, even more so than during the actual wedding. Aunt Valaria held Cottia in her arms, and then Marcus made a show of wresting her away from her aunt. Some well-born young boys showed up: two of them took Cottia's hands, and one walked before her with a lit torch. The guests followed, with the men singing some rather rude songs. Of course, they did not get to sing them very long because Uncle Aquila's home was right next to Kaeso's.

At the doorway of the Aquila house, Marcus carefully picked Cottia up. Because she was so tall, it was very awkward. "This is stupid," she whispered in his ear.

"Don't make me laugh again!" he breathed, and then he stepped over the threshold very cautiously, favoring his bad leg. They were both relieved when he was able to set her down again. She took the torch from the lead boy and walked forward to the atrium, where she lighted a fire in the brazier standing ready there. Everyone cheered. Marcus took a basket of sweetmeats from Sassticca and tossed handfuls of them to the guests. The boys scampered to gather up as many of them as they could while Cottia doused the torch in a bucket of water. She then tossed the torch as far as she could over the heads of the crowd, and some young women who had shown up to join the procession jostled one another to catch it.

She finally caught sight of Esca, standing at the far end of the atrium with Uncle Aquila's old slaves. He grinned at her, but Cottia thought his eyes looked a little less jolly than his mouth did.

Tullia Rufa, smiling broadly now, led them to the chamber that had been prepared for them, at the far end of the peristyle. They thanked her, and then Marcus shut the door behind her.

The room was furnished with a chest, a brazier, a standing lamp, a small table with a basin and a pitcher, and a wide bed with fresh, new blankets. Curtains of striped fabric fluttered over the window, although there were also shutters that now stood open. Cottia collapsed to sit on the chest. "Thank goodness that's over!"

Marcus smiled at her, but his eyes looked worried again. She scowled. "Don't moon over me as though I were ill!"

"Cottia ... we're meant to ... ."

"I know. My people breed horses, Marcus. I'm not stupid."

Marcus sighed. "I'm not a prize stallion, either." He sat on the bed. "Come sit by me, here."

"Yes, my lord," she said, saucily, and stood up.

"All right, I'm sorry. Won't you please come sit by me, precious wife?"

She came over to him but remained standing. "Are you not meant to undo this wondrous knot that my aunt has put in this girdle, first?"

"I don't want to do anything in too much of a hurry, Cottia. You've never been with a man."

"And how do you know that? I am a wild woman of the tribes."

He actually looked shocked, and she laughed at him. "Cottia –"

"Oh Marcus. You should see your face! You have the truth of it, of course. But do you think I have not been wanting this? I know that fortunate women want to be with their husbands as much as they can, and that their beds are lonely when their men must go away to war or for trade. You are not a wild, ill-mannered stallion, and you will be careful with me. Maybe too careful. Won't you?"

He smiled then and stood up, taking her hands in his. He leaned down to kiss her cheek: not very far down, for he was only a couple of handspans taller than she was. Then he kissed her mouth, so she kissed him back. She felt his lips open and the tip of his tongue stroking her lips, and he slid his hands up her bare arms and wrapped his arms about her, pulling her close. It felt wonderful, feeling his firm body pressing against hers, and she put her arms about him as well. "I guess I ought to undo that knot, now," he whispered at last, and released her.

She placed her hands on his shoulders and pulled a face as he puzzled over the strands. "I do not know what the point of that is: surely it can't be a good sign, that a marriage has to start with such a tangle."

"You know, when Alexander the Great of Greece was faced with a knot like this, he wasted no time in slicing it in two," said Marcus. "But I should think that would be a terrible omen."

"He sounds a sensible man, to me! Will I stand here as evening turns to night, while you fever yourself working through that thing?"

"Here, let's try this strand... all right, that's started to loosen it. And ... there!" The girdle fell free to her feet. "And now ... Cottia, I'm going to take off your tunic. May I?"

"What about yours? And you are still wearing your toga."

"Well, that's true," He shook his head, looking rueful, and started to unwind the draped cloth. She came to help him, so the white garment wouldn't end up on the floor.

"I shall have to learn to help you with this. I know Aunt Valaria gives Uncle Kaeso a hand with his."

"I suppose. Uncle Aquila helped me this morning. Thank you," he added, as she took it from him and placed it on the chest. "Now –"

"Each of us could take off his – or her – own tunic."

"I'm certain I was supposed to undress you!"

"Why?" she said, and to prevent any further argument, she tossed her wreath and veil after his toga, pulled at her tunic, and got it over her head. "Oh ... I still have on my slippers."

But he was not looking at her shoes. He was gazing at her naked body with something like awe. She crossed her arms over her breasts, annoyed that she was flushing, and tossed her head. "Yours, now! I'm getting chilled."

He grinned and dropped his gaze. "All right. But I'm not as pretty as you are." He pulled the red-banded tunic off. At first glance, he was like enough to the marble statues she'd seen from time to time, but he was hairy in some places – she'd expected that – and the scars on his right thigh were ridged and livid. She reached down and touched them gently.

"Do they hurt?"

"Not really. Not at all, most of the time. That leg isn't quite as strong."

"Yes, I know." As he took her tunic from her hands and tossed it with his onto the growing pile on the chest, she could see that the musculature on that half of his backside was not as full and rounded as that on the other. He turned around and gave a startled chuckle when he saw her looking.

"You're staring at my arse?"

"Why should I not? You are my man now." But she shivered, a little, and not entirely from cold.

"We should get into bed," said Marcus, gently. "Cottia, you must tell me if you don't care for anything I'm doing."

"First off, you can stop looking at me as though I were going to fall into a faint."

He shook his head and then turned back the blankets on the bed and climbed in. "Please, come here," he said, patting the space beside him. So she kicked off the wedding slippers and did so.

He lay down and gently pulled her down beside him. Then he kissed her mouth again, her cheek, and started to lay a trail of kisses down over her jaw, and her neck. One hand settled on one of her breasts and woke a warm flush that only increased when his mouth arrived there as well, suckling gently. Her breath went out of her, trembling, and he stopped. "Did that hurt?" he said, anxious, and his breath was hot on her skin.

"No, it was pleasant but ... startling."

He put his arms around her and rolled half over so she was leaning against his chest, and kissed her again. Her breasts were pressed into his chest, and it felt good, although a little itchy where he was hairy. He stroked one hand down her back, all the way to her backside, and then gently tugged one of her legs to wrap around him. She could feel his phallus, hardening against her thigh, and the press of her crotch against his leg was waking a warm tingling all through her belly. She had touched herself there before, but she had not really imagined this feeling, almost cozy and yet exciting at the same time.

"I've wanted you so much, ever since I saw you again when I came back," he said, quietly.

"I ... really?"

"Yes. Cottia ... I want this to make you happy."

"I'm feeling ... I feel like I want something more."

"That's good," he said, and he sounded rather breathless. "Here, lay down again." He kissed her breasts again and stroked one hand down over her belly to place his palm firmly over the hair between her legs. That felt good, and she arched up against him. She could feel his hard length against her thigh, and for a few moments they just did that, pressing against each other. Then he drew a deep breath and gently parted the lips of her sex with his fingers, stroking there. "Is that good?" he asked, his voice tight.

It was, but – "Your fingers are a little rough. It's just how your skin is, Marcus."

He withdrew his fingers and just held her for a moment. Then he started to kiss down her throat and body again, but this time he continued on across her belly and farther. "Marcus? Do people really _do_ that?"

He laughed a little. "Some say you shouldn't, that if a man does, his breath will be foul. But I've been told otherwise. Look –" and he licked her belly. "That's not rough at all, is it?"

"No." She felt a warm, almost pleasant tension deep in her gut at the thought of that soft touch on her most tender flesh.

"So I should go on?"

"Do it," she said, and now she was the one who sounded breathless. She felt the soft, wet warmth stroke delicately across the entrance to her core, and it was hard to lie still. Her hips wanted to arch up into that hot, provoking touch.

"Steady, sweet – I don't want to hurt you. There's a mouthful of teeth here, too."

"I can't hold still!"

"I'll hold you then," and his warm hands pressed gently but firmly against her legs as he stroked her, and she felt warmer and more tense with every passing second.

"Marcus," she pleaded, not knowing what she wanted, and he stopped.

"Cottia," he said, in a very small voice. "I need to –"

"Yes, I think ... maybe I want that?"

"I hope so," he said, soberly. He crawled up to face her again. His lips were wet, and she could smell herself on him, but it seemed right to what she was feeling. He put one of his knees between hers and lowered himself down, resting his elbows on each side of her. "Open your legs a little more ... there."

She could feel his hot, smooth flesh pressing inside her. For the first seconds she wondered how anyone could not want this, and then he encountered something that stopped him. "This might hurt," he said, through gritted teeth, and pressed harder.

It did hurt, just a bit, and she gasped, just a bit. "Cottia?"

"No, it's nothing much," she said, and it wasn't. She wanted more of that sweet pressure she had felt at first, and she drew up her legs to rock that part of her against him. Now _he_ gasped: "Cottia, oh Cottia!" 

He bent to kiss her, and she tried to kiss back, but she was so breathless, it was hard. He began to thrust into her, cautiously at first, and warm waves of sensation lapped upward from where they were joined. Suddenly his movements quickened, and his face knotted up as though he were in pain. He gasped, and moaned, and she could feel his phallus pulsing within her. And then he dropped down limply onto her chest, his lips pressing gently against her neck, soft little kisses as though he were very tired.

She still felt warm and tingling and expectant, but she could feel his flesh shrinking within her already.

"Cottia," he said softly, at last. "Are you well?"

"I think I'm still – hungry for you?"

"Oh," he said, and sighed. "I'm sorry. I just wanted you too much. I couldn't wait. I'll take more time over it, next time."

"Be sure you do," she said, tartly, and pulled his head around so she could kiss him, hard.

 


End file.
